Penalty
by Graficcha
Summary: What if Valgaav didn't die? What if he was still a mix of Ancient and mazoku? And then there's this Goldenworshipping town which wants him to be punished for his crimes... Later on Filia x Valgaav
1. chapter 1: light's end

**let's pretend Valgaav didn't die at the end of TRY. in this story, he isn't reborn, but survives in the body he is in. yup, the dragon-mazoku crossbreed.**

waitasec...ah yes! I don't own Slayers. (I gotta add that, no?)

**When penalty goes too far**

set after TRY, right before Valgaav is about to be killed. Later in the story: Valgaav x Filia

chapter 1: light's end

'Light. Too much...light.'

Golden irises stared into the depths of the energy surrounding them. A pair of cat-like pupils shrank to the size of needles, aqua bangs surrounding a horn were waving around its possessor's face. A slow stream of blood flowed out of a painful wound on the battered Valgaav's chest.

He was ready to accept the death the light brought. In fact, he had wished for it since his master Gaav had died.

He wasn't afraid of death. 'Been there, done that...'

Despite of the pain the attack brought, he almost smiled. This would be the end of his miserable life. He had failed in every task he set himself. He couldn't prevent them from killing Gaav, he couldn't make them pay for it. He had even managed to let that piece of scum of a mazoku –Xellos- escape alive. At least, the Golden dragons got their punishment. Even if he'd rather have tortured that Filia a bit longer. She had looked so hurt when she found out about her race's history of destruction...just what she deserved, being the Golden she was.

His hurting wings slowly retreated inside his body, stopping the pain they caused every time he used them. This time, no curse crossed his mind when he thought of his mazoku side that rejected his original ancient body, making flight a true torture. He knew it had been his own choice to become partially mazoku, but he had never known what pain it would bring him before he turned into the being he was now. It wasn't Gaav's fault for not warning him about it. The mazoku probably hadn't thought of any possible rejection himself. The last thing he could do now to repay Gaav for is kindness, for his care, was dying.

Valgaav closed his eyes, relaxing in the light. He didn't feel it anymore, he embraced the feeling. It was what he was. Hurting, lonely, empty.

In the time the attack raged, destroying everything in its path, he had come to the very end of the darkness that had surrounded him for all those years. The vision of the friendly, caressing warmth his death would bring drew Valgaav to the brink of death. He was about to step into the light, when darkness claimed him once more.

The mazoku race wasn't going to release its prey so easily…

'No!'

Desperately, Valgaav tried to stop himself from defending his body. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Year after year, since Gaav's death, he had secretly wished that someone would come and take his life. But now, when he thought it would all be over soon, the godforsaken mazoku in him still fought to live. The mazoku part in him he tried to fight on every occasion, the part that Gaav had hated in himself, too. The piece of him that would live for the sake of living and hurting others and himself. The part that wouldn't allow simple happiness.

Horror-struck, Valgaav panicked. It was too late to gather his mind and fight the need to live, the need for vengeance. God, he didn't want to live with this ever-lasting hatred anymore! He cursed himself for letting his guard down while enjoying the light when the darkness was still near. But it was too late.

In the end, the survival-instinct of the mazoku was stronger than Valgaav's own will. It crushed the last opposition that could have made the difference between survival and death. It crushed Valgaav's mind like it had done so many times before, making the crossbreed unable to make his own decisions, preventing any attempt to regain his 'humanity', prone to hatred and despair. Using the little strength he had left, the demon in him made him cast a protecting spell in front of him.

The impact of Lina's attack against the shield catapulted him, like a leaf in a storm, far away from the battlefield. Finally out of range of the devastating energy-wave, he dispelled the shield and fell. Eyes closed, he tumbled through the heated air. His aqua hair rustled against his horn in the vortex his falling body caused. He could still feel the warmth and the energy of the attack he had been in a few moments earlier. It felt like leaving a comfortable and precious home to wander and get lost in the cold outside world. He didn't even try to cast a flying spell, and he wasn't high enough to draw out his wings once more. He couldn't care less about dying.

But when he saw the rocks approaching beneath him, fear replaced his death-wish. His serene state of mind was overtaken by sheer terror.

Too scared to fight his instincts, he transformed his left arm into dragon-form in a split second, ignoring the wave of pain it caused.

His quite healthy looking skin turned into black, leathery hide; muscles and bone stretched; his hand flexed when it transformed into a draconic claw, complete with sharp, intimidating talons.

A few metres above the rocky ground, he slashed his black talons into a stone spire to slow down his fall. It was a miracle that his arm wasn't pulled out of its socket, but the sudden force hurt none the less. His claws left a long slash mark on the spire as he struggled not to lose his grip on the hard surface. Even if his remaining speed wasn't deadly anymore, the impact with the ground was still great enough to make dust-clouds fly up. His feet were driven into the sand, his knees buckled under the pressure, but he stood.

Eventually, he sank to his knees, exhausted, drained. His talons made an awful shrieking noise as his hand slid down the spire, but Valgaav didn't hear it. The last thing that crossed his mind before he lost consciousness was absolute despair. He had been so close to fulfilling his destiny, but once again, it was taken from him. No one is immortal, so why, WHY didn't he die?

At least he was spared from having to answer his own question. Everything became black before his eyes, and he fell face first down to the ground. A bit of blood trickled down from the corner of his mouth, and the wound on his chest stained the ground crimson.

Too bad his injuries weren't fatal.


	2. the town of Kvalser

disclaimer: OK, I don't own Slayers. Remind me of it some more...

I hate this chapter, but it's needed for the story. I hopeI can get the message through.

chapter 2: Kvalser

In the nearby hidden city of Kvalser (A/N: I made it up, OK?) the town's elders were observing the spectacle that was unfolding before their eyes.

They were the Keepers of the history of the Golden dragons. It had been the elders' task to keep an eye on Valgaav ever since he was created, and they loathed their subject like nothing else in the world. All their lives, they feared that he might find out about their village and strike when they least expected it. In their eyes, Valgaav had no right to live. He was the devil himself, the devil sent to destroy the holy Golden Dragons. The inhabitants all knew the story of 'Valgaav the Destroyer' and loathed him for wanting to wipe out their holy gods. Little did they know that he hated the mazoku just as fiercely. The younger generations had never really believed that someone as evil as him could exist, but hated the image of a 'heretic' like him none the less.

Kvalser's history depended on the Golden ones, their religion was based on them. They were the self-declared protectors of the Golden ones.

Just a little drawback: they never learned Valgaav's side of the story. For them, the Golden dragons were holier than L-sama himself, and they had never heard of the genocide of the Ancients. They knew the race had once existed, and they just assumed it had become extinct by the power of their Light-weapon, even if that didn't sound very logical. The Ancients had always been trying to prevent that anyone 'd ever use its power for evil purposes.

Well...they had an idea how it could have happened...but they'd always stop doing research after the matter when the Golden dragons were mentioned. The books and manuscripts would all be abandoned to the town's forbidden library.

The whole town of Kvalser was proud of 'their' dragons and would do anything to hunt down and punish anyone who meant them harm... as long as 'anyone' wasn't the feared Valgaav, of course. He scared the ...begeebies out of 'em.

Since Dark Star was summoned, they had been worried about their town. If Lina and her party couldn't defeat it, no one could. And if they couldn't, Valgaav would come and destroy the last city of the Golden dragons.

With his brows knitted together in concern, Kvalser's towns leader watched the battle raging from his tower's window. His staff if town elders was discussing the situation, and a few young men were standing in the middle of the round room, looking a bit lost in the mess.

At last, the bravest of them dared to interrupt the elders' heated conversation. He tapped one of them lightly on the shoulder. 'What's your problem!' the old man snapped, making the young one recoil.

'Uh...Well...Umm...'

The boy blushed fiercely. Great...he had his words planned and now he was completely stressed and he couldn't even utter a simple word...

'It's okay, kid. We all are a bit jumpy today...' the kind elder interrupted his thoughts.

'Now, what is it you want to know?'

Relieved, the young man could speak normally again.

'Why were we summoned? Why did you order that every warrior or magician had to gather here? We were all watching the fight out there...'

The elder eyed the bunch of fighters the boy had brought with him. He could feel they were strong, but they lacked experience and confidence in battle. He could've known. They were the result of their pacifist religion, which told that it is OK to learn how to fight, but that combat should be avoided at all times. It also said that once you are 20 you should retire from fighting and find yourself 'a proper job'. Well, they'd just have to use them to the best of their capacities, even if it'd be the riskiest operation they'd had to do in years, no, centuries.

The elder sighed.

'You've all seen what's going on out there.' He addressed the whole group of warriors.

He received a curt, tense nod from all of them.

'Good. You may or may not have seen that something was blasted away from the battle into our direction. We were sent an urgent message by our observation-tower: that 'thing' was a very flustered-looking Valgaav.'

A sharp intake of multiple breaths at the sound of the name.

'The good news is that he appears to be defeated; not dead, but severely weakened. If you all look out the window now, you can all see that Dark Star is vanishing, so it is save to go and...'

The elder hesitated.

'And what?' a frail magician asked anxiously.

'Well, capture the devil. We all know he needs to be punished for his crimes.'

Slowly, the young men became aware of the danger they were in. They'd have to leave their town, go into the 'outside' world and attempt to...no! just _Capture _the being they had hated, and, more importantly, had feared for all their lives...

They didn't doubt that the menace from their childhood was weak now, they had seen the attack and the elders wouldn't lie to them, but still...

'You're right!' the first warrior exclaimed, determination in his voice. We might never get a chance like this again! This is the time to strike!'

'And don't forget...' he added '...what he did to the Golden ones...'

In a flash, the frightened squad regained their confidence. Hatred flared within them at the mention of Valgaav's newest crime. The remembered the horrific sight of the Golden dragons being killed, they remembered the feeling they had had when they saw their beloved Goldens fall...anguish over the loss of something beautiful, and the loathing, the hatred they felt towards the being who had taken it all from them. They didn't know, however, that a certain mazoku wasn't completely innocent either.

The decision was made. They'd accept the task of capturing the devil and bring him to their town, where he'd get his punishment. The warrior who had been the first to speak to the elder, Danver, was chosen unanimously to be their leader. After all, he was the bravest, the most experienced and he knew 'his' squad the best. He was surprised, but the brown-haired youth accepted. Immediately, he began forming squadrons of the men with the same kind of tactics: archers, shamans, black mages and swordmasters.

This is what they had all secretly trained for. Not for self-defence, or because they 'thought it might come in handy'...they had trained because every young man in the city would, at some point in his life, come to the conclusion that he would have to do his share in combat when the mighty Valgaav came to conquer their home.

Danver was given directions to the exact spot where Valgaav had 'landed'. (It was something like ' Outside the gate, go south until you reach that spire over there, and then avoid those sinkholes, and then continue until you run into that bunch of golems, kill them off and...', each landmark shown out the window; for no one had thought of bringing a map along.)

In a few minutes, the group was fully armed with weapons, spellbooks, tips from older, retired fighters and the 'directions'.

They were ready to go and set off into the dangerous outside world.


	3. action

Disc 3: I don't own Slayers, k?

chapter 3: action...

If Valgaav had been conscious, he'd probably have said something insulting at the sight of Danver's 'stealth'-squadron scurrying past, over, along and (the unlucky ones to drop down a sink hole) under the rock-desert. The scouts were –to say the least- noisy. They were lucky that the area was completely deserted, because any possible enemy could have fried, smashed, squished, blasted or just simply killed them all at least six times before they found out that 'stealth' meant being quiet and not alerting everyone of your presence. That's called heroics. Well, they WERE stressed about the thought of running into their worst nightmare. Banging noises could be heard all over the place, until they suddenly stopped, followed by agitated whispering of 'We've got 'm surrounded!'.

If the situation wasn't so serious, it'd be funny, but now, Danver only thought it was pathetic. He decided to just skip the whole scouting-and-surrounding part and just go up to the unconscious Valgaav and get it over with. It'd be too dangerous to take chances.

The group of fighters almost couldn't believe that the hurt man lying a few metres further was the reason they were so scared. They had learned not to judge people by their appearance, but they still were shocked about Valgaav's complete...defencelessness. He didn't move. He hardly breathed. The only thing to remind them that he was indeed the one they had been looking for was that scary claw of his and the horn.

He was theirs to kill. Too bad they weren't allowed to. First, he had to atone for all his sins. Their elders would decide what to do with him. Probably lock him up in that special prison they built for him.

But they had never thought that it would be so ridiculously_ easy_ to capture him. He should at least be awake to face his trial. They wanted to see fear in his eyes, anger, defeat. He didn't have to put up a fight, just being awake would be enough. They at least wanted to show their skills to him, let him know how hard they had trained for their victory, not just pick him up and leave. It was just too damn _easy_!

Before the shocked eyes of his companions, Danver walked up to the spot where Valgaav had fallen. They eyed him anxiously like he was approaching a stray grenade that could detonate every moment. In this case, it was an appropriate metaphor, but this stray grenade was broken.

Danver's eyes wandered from Valgaav's horn to his wicked aqua hair to his limp body to finally halt on his claw. He had expected to feel relieved at the sight of the defeated enemy. He had expected to feel happy, proud, superior to this demon spawn. But the feeling that was creeping into I mind was...pity. He felt sorry for the creature before him. He could clearly see that life hadn't been merciful to his enemy. There was something about the way Valgaav was lying there. He didn't look anything like the menace he had been before. The emotions etched on his face were betrayal –who betrayed him?-, anguish –that attack sure must've hurt a lot-, and total powerlessness. If the mazoku-Ancient had been awake, he would've hidden those feelings behind his usual mask of arrogance. Sleep and coma can show a lot of people's secret feelings.

Pity was what Danver felt when he looked at the defeated, broken Ancient. And it confused him. 'This has to be some kind of trick!' He was supposed to feel the hatred spike, not feel sorry for this piece of mazoku-scum!

His comrades had been watching their leader and their fallen enemy closely, keeping watch over the scene. They were prepared for anything, but not for what they saw next. With a sudden cold look of pure loathing, Danver kicked the unconscious man in the side. Hard. Valgaav's slender body was thrown into the spire he had used to slow down his fall. When his back collided with the sharp, rocky surface, his head shot upwards in pain, eyes still closed. The only sound he made was a weak gasp for breath before he went limp again. It was a sight to feel sorry for.

But Danver wasn't done. He cracked his knuckles, bent his knees and punched Valgaav in his stomach in one fluid motion. Valgaav's body leaned over. This time, Danver's victim's golden eyes shot open, pupils first widened in shock, then shrunk in pain. Again, a little blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth. Out of reflex, his normal arm grabbed Danver's wrist and twisted. Amazed by Valgaav's speed, Dan hardly noticed that the motion broke his wrist.

When the pain finally got through, the only thing he could manage was a meek 'Ow!'. As if this was their cue, the bravest of his comrades rushed forward to help him. They tried to break the Ancient's strong grip by hitting him wherever they could or tugging at his hand (which only resulted in paining their friend even more). One of them even had the guts to grab the dragon-mazoku's horn and ramming his head backwards against the spire. All their attempts failed until the smartest of them drew out a knife and slashed Valgaav's arm. Immediately, he released. Unaware of what had happened, only feeling the pain in his head and arm, Valgaav lost consciousness again.

It was downright embarrassing that the 'warriors' were having so much trouble with Valgaav when he wasn't even completely conscious. Their brute force wasn't enough to handle even his reflexes. Danver hadn't seen it coming in his blind rage. He scolded himself for letting it get out of hand like this, for having been childish. He had wanted action? Well, he had gotten it. His broken wrist was his punishment. But in the end, Valgaav had gotten the penalty the inexperienced warrior should've gotten for his fault.

That thought plagued Danver the whole way back home. Cradling his injured arm, he kept an eye on the carriers. Not that they were in any danger, Valgaav had been tied to a stretcher, but it wasn't carried like a stretcher is to be carried. The squad wasn't done punishing him: two of them were pulling him behind them, head downwards. They didn't bother to avoid pits and bumps on their road; they liked watching Valgaav twitch in pain whenever he'd almost crush his skull against the rocks too much.

'Maybe I'll tell them to stop doing that and be a bit more careful...' Danver thought.

'Maybe...'


	4. trial and error

Adding the Disclaimer:

No, I don't own Slayers.

If you like my story or have any comments, review pretty please?

chapter 4: trial and error

Danver decided it was wisest not to express his feelings in front of every warrior from their town. They might get the impression that their leader wasn't trustworthy. Or they might think he was soft. No, he'd definitely shut up about it. Holy Goldens, he didn't even trust himself right now! It was more logic to think that the half-mazoku had played some kind of trick on his mind.

His silence would result in one hell of a headache for Valgaav when he next woke up. Not that it'd matter. On top of the pain he felt from the battle, a little headache wouldn't make a huge difference.

Danver was dragged away from his thoughts when a fellow magician came walking next to him. It was a fairly young lady, dressed in a wide robe with way too many pockets for Dan to count. A healer.

She looked at him, and then at his arm. He looked at her, and then at his arm, too. Slowly, her eyes attracted his gaze. He lifted his head a little so he could look into her beautiful, shining iridescent green eyes.

She frowned.

'What's wrong? I just came to check up on you.'

'Oh!...' He blushed. Great. Such things always had to happen to him.

'Well, if you're OK now, let me take a look at your wrist, then. I think...' she slightly paused

'...you rather want this to be healed _before_ we get back to the city. I wouldn't want our leader to get into trouble.' She gently took his hand and began casting a spell over it. Relieved, Danver felt the pain ebbing away. When the healer was done, she looked at him with a serious expression on her face.

'Now, what was that all about back there? Just pulling of heroics or was it something else?'

Danver looked at the ground, reluctant to tell, blushing at the directness of the question.

'Oh never mind.'

He looked up in surprise. 'Y-...You don't want to know?'

'No. I'm sorry for asking. That was rude, I'm usually not like that. I guess he' – she nodded her head in Valgaav's direction- 'has a strange effect on all of us. I know most of the other mages in town, and they're all acting weird, even me. And then the way the Destroyer was just lying there...I thought he was dead. It confuses me. I'm getting this feeling that, well, forgive me for being silly, that he doesn't deserve the punishment the elders have planned for him. That someone else has punished him already...' she stopped.

'L-sama, hear me babbling!' now it was her turn to blush.

'I gotta go see if there are others hurt! See you, bye!' And off she was.

Danver could've sworn he heard her muttering under her breath. Something like 'Oh my god I'm turning into a heretic...'

He sighed.

'You're not the only one...'

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Finally, they arrived at their town's gates. To avoid the mob that had formed behind them, Danver and the carriers would take the back door, two miles to the east. When the gates opened to let the other warriors and magicians in, they were almost crushed by the agitated bloodthirsty crowd, completely armed with stakes and rocks. This was exactly what they had expected. The people who were sworn pacifists would go rabid when their religion's nemesis was about to enter their town. They were worried about their safety, and they were filled with the need for vengeance. Danver sent the carriers off to the back door and observed the scene.

His squad told the mob that they'd have to wait just a little longer; Valgaav was captured and would be brought in a little later. The mob bought it. Good. Danver could see the female healer from earlier running around between her mates and the people, trying to stay calm in the mess. Now that he looked closer, he noticed that his whole squad was close to a nervous breakdown. Well, after this was over, he'd take them to the inn and get drunk. Seriously drunk. The Golden would forgive them.

He turned around and rushed to catch up with the carriers. Valgaav hadn't budged an inch, and it seemed that his tormentors had stopped hurting him on purpose. They now carried him off the ground, and they both didn't say a word.

When they finally reached the 'back door' the elders were already waiting. In total silence, they gestured to their own carriers, and without a word, they relieved Danver's two friends from their burden. Danver received a curt nod from the mare, but he himself felt too depressed to nod back. The mare looked a bit taken aback by this lack of response, but when he saw that the two carriers didn't look any better, he smiled.

'It's OK. You can go home now. You and your team will be rewarded for your trouble. Have your healers taken care of the wounded?'

This time, Danver nodded. He decided not to mention that he was the only 'wounded'.

'Well, have a nice day then. From here on, we'll take care of the heretic, he'll get the punishment he deserves. We've been preparing this for ages. Don't worry.'

Danver hesitated a little, but finally turned around to leave. When he glanced behind him, he could see the hatred and the uncharacteristic bloodlust in his leaders' eyes. It worried him, it gave him this strange gut-feeling of dread, but he didn't know why. Well, maybe he did...

'_He'll get the punishment he deserves. Don't worry.' _That was exactly what he was worried about. He hadn't forgotten his prior feelings.

'Hey Dan, how are we going to get inside the town now?' one of the carriers interrupted his thoughts. 'I mean, the whole mob is waiting there…'

Danver muttered a curse. He had completely forgotten about that! 'Aw hell, I'll figure out something before we get there.'

He didn't forget about Valgaav but right now, he ha more urgent matters on his mind. Like not being ripped apart upon arrival by an angry crowd of people who are yearning for revenge. His enemy 'd just have to deal with his current situation. Wait a sec...that didn't sound right. It sounded like he hoped that Valgaav would be all right. Damn, this is confusing!

Annoyed, he banned every thought of Valgaav out of his head.

It wasn't like he owed the bastard anything, for Golden's sake! Who cares if he gets hurt, or whether or not he deserves his punishment. No! Why was he questioning that again!

Danver let out a snarl in frustration. His comrades looked at him, a bit frightened when they saw their grumpy, fuming friend.

'Oh, don't give me that look. I'm just having a bad day, that's all. Let's find a way to get inside and then go get a drink, okay?'

The two carriers nodded in agreement. Soon, they had forgotten about Valgaav. He'd come and haunt their thoughts later, but now, they were free from him. Even Danver, the one who could be kind-hearted enough to forgive him his sins.

He'd have to survive this alone.

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Next chapter: Valgaav torture.

I'll try to save him the worst pain, he IS my muse after all; but I can't deny that he's done some reeeeeeaaaaaly bad stuff in the past.

Can't blame him either, poor chap.

I guess I'm just a sadist.


	5. punishment

disc 5: I don't own Slayers, but I wouldn't mind if I did, of course '

**CarolinaWhiteRose** meep! thankies!

**kimonoprincess** thankies too! Yes, Danver's an oc. I just needed a name for a random warrior, he's not really a major character. Maybe he'll return, but I'm not sure. BTW, I might not really be into Inuyasha, but I DO like Kouga, too. But I'm way too much of a sadist, so it's good he's under your care ;p

I've written more than usual this time, but I needed to get everything I wantedin this chapter. I just start and write until the point I see as the end.

chapter 5: punishment

In the castle of Kvalser a trial was held. _Without_ Valgaav of course. Devils didn't deserve to get the chance to defend themselves. Besides, he was still unconscious (they had ordered their guards to knock him out again every time he appeared to be waking up).

Anyway, the trial was just a formality. They had invited the whole town to the plaza, where they were all shouting and jeering. They wanted vengeance for their beloved Goldens, their gods now! He should be killed, right now, right here. But the elders had something else on their mind. They had been working on it for ages, and now was the time to convince the townsfolk that it would be more of a punishment to keep Valgaav alive. Death would mean freedom, so the better option would be to keep him in captivity. That way, their revenge would last longer.

The elders ensured the people that the special prison was absolutely safe, and that they'd make sure that Valgaav's guards didn't treat him too carefully. In fact, they wouldn't need any guards at all. The only thing guards did was making sure no one escaped (that wouldn't happen anyway), to prevent anyone from getting in (no one would want to get in), and to hand out food to the prisoners. They assumed that Valgaav didn't need food, maybe they hadn't thought of that, or maybe they knew he _did_ need to eat and thought letting him starve to death 'd be funny. Anyway, they told the crowd that devils don't need food, so Valgaav wouldn't get any.

And thus, it was decided. The unconscious Valgaav was moved to his prison, under the castle.

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There, the guards had a little problem. Valgaav would be held fixed in one place, sitting on a mythril bench, tied to the wall with metal clasps around his arms and chains around his legs.

Now, the problem was that the clasps wouldn't fit around Valgaav's transformed left arm. Some of the older magicians and elders were called. They hadn't thought about this while building the cell. After a little discussion (it woke Valgaav, so he got whacked on the head again), they decided to remove the clasps from his normal right arm and use magic to forge the clasps of both arms together. Then they magically enhanced them to prevent Valgaav from braking them. They were about to leave when the guards asked them what to do next.

The magicians rolled their eyes and told them to just go get a hammer, nail the clasps into the wall and close the locks around the arm. His right arm would be left untied until they had some more clasps. They handed the guard some _huge_ nails and a hammer. When the guard just stood there, flabbergasted and scared (He'd get the chance to _nail_ the devil to a wall!), the mage rolled his eyes once more. 'Now why are you looking at me like that? They're nails, and they're not going to hammer themselves into that wall. I'm not a magician, you know.' The guard was about to give a remark, when the annoyed mage teleported away.

With a sigh, the guard dismissed the other guards, ordering them to keep watch at the entrance, and turned around to face the prisoner. Valgaav, who was leaning against the cold wall, groaned. He seemed to be waking up again. The guard sadly shook his head and hit him against his horn with his hammer. Immediately, the dragon-mazoku fell silent again. His upper body fell to the side, and the guard had to rush and steady him. While trying to get Valgaav upright again, he noticed the many scars the crossbreed had obtained in his long life. Scars on his cheeks, on his side and upper body. The wound on his shoulder would probably result in another scar, and maybe the clean cut on his arm, too if not treated. Again, the guard shook his head and sighed. Then, he took a deep breath and started 'nailing' Valgaav to the wall.

No matter how pitiful the knock-out 'devil' looked, the black claw appalled and frightened him. He resisted the urge to pass on the task to another guard and positioned the claw horizontally against the wall. First, he nailed a clasp around the wrist, then one around Valgaav's upper arm, avoiding the spikes on his shoulder. Then he started to secure the elbow, one clasp around his lower arm, as close as he could get to the elbow-spikes, and one on the other side of the joint. The guard only had one more nail left when the massive claw suddenly twitched, scaring the wits out of the poor man. The already frightened guard had to summon all his nerve not to run out of the room and regain his composure.

When he had calmed down a little, he could hear Valgaav muttering something under his breath. His eyes were barely opened, his nothing-seeing gaze downcast. 'No...' In surprise, the guard blinked. 'No, not again...' Curious, he came closer again, crouching down to look in the injured and beaten half-mazoku's face.

There was no one else in the cell, only the guard and the delirious Valgaav. The guard was completely captivated by the prisoner's barely audible voice. 'What?...' the guard whispered '...what is it you don't want to happen again?'. 'Leave me alone...don't come back...for me...' Now the guard was confused. There was something strange in the tone in which the words were spoken. Something sad, and something angry. 'I don't want to hurt you...don't come back...' Now it was pleading, full of concern. 'I don't...want it, I don't...' the guard's face was now mere inches from Valgaav's...

'...Deserve it!' Valgaav's eyes shot open, shouting against an invisible person. The guard jumped up and backed off at the sight of the narrowed cat-like pupils and the shining gold of the irises. Eyes of a demon... The still delirious Valgaav had used all his remaining strength to throw his upper body forward and shout as loud as he could. Now he fell forward, eyes closed again, but the clasps around his arm held him more or less upright. Minutes passed. The guard stood in the corner, shaking like a leaf, anxiously eyeing the now silent Valgaav. He couldn't see his face, aqua bangs covered it, and the horn was aimed at an imaginary fiend in front of it.

The guard couldn't see that the fallen Ancient was silently crying bitter tears of anguish and regret about what he had done. He was tired, he wanted nothing more tan to find peace, and regardless of what he had done and not done, Lina Inverse, Filia and her team had wanted to grant him his last wish. Filia had even tried to give him back his life, but he had been stubborn, blinded by rage and hatred, full of himself . He had wanted power, had actually felt _superior_ to them who wanted to protect it from abuse. He had become the kind of person he hated, he had become like the Goldens in the past. He was a complete failure. He had gotten his revenge on the Golden dragons, but at what cost?

An image of the last Golden flashed past his inner eye. Filia. He was the reason her family was destroyed. Filia, the kind-hearted Filia who had felt pity for him on the battlefield. He had thought she wanted to avoid _unnecessary bloodshed_. Well, she had, but now he saw that she didn't want to protect only her friends, but that she was concerned about him, too._ Filia...I'm sorry...don't come back for me again...I don't deserve your pity, your concern._ Valgaav cried without knowing himself. Every defence he had was shattered, every thought about revenge and anger banished from his heart. They were replaced by yearning for love, for a meaning, and the agonizing realisation that once again, he had screwed up and that he didn't deserve to be released from the pain he felt. Guilt filled him, it was too much to hold. Everyone had a good reason to hate him.

Slowly, Valgaav forgave the Goldens for what they had done to him. Now it was his turn to be punished, and Filia should do it. That would be his new purpose in life. There was nothing left of the pride he had before Dark star. Maybe he'd recover, maybe he wouldn't. But for now, it was enough to say that he wasn't himself anymore.

When he hadn't budged an inch for at least ten minutes, the guard dared to move again. He couldn't forget those eyes. He couldn't believe that such alien, evil eyes could contain and express such pain. That look made him feel bad. Really bad. Shaking, he approached the unconscious Valgaav. From this view, he could see that the demon's eyes were red and swollen. Had he cried?...This thought confused the guard even more. He grabbed the last nail he had and the hammer and started nailing. Inside, his mind was one giant turmoil. He was starting to feel pity for the devil, and that feeling was against every aspect of his religion. He tried to set his mind on other things, and when that didn't work, he became angry.

In frustration, he took a good swing with is hammer, but instead of hitting the nail square on, the hammer slipped and came down on Valgaav's elbow. The impact crushed the joint, bone splintered, sending out a wave of pain. Now, Valgaav was really awake. He opened his eyes in a flash, trying not to let a sound escape through clenched teeth. His fangs were clearly visible. His whole body tensed, but he remained silent, not completely aware of what was going on. In pain, he squeezed his eyes shut and groaned quietly. He clenched his right fist.

When the first pain had ebbed away, Valgaav turned his head around to his left side, and looked at the shocked guard with a mix of surprise and distrust. He tried to raise his right arm, but he didn't have the energy to do so. Slowly, his ears began picking up sounds again. He heard the frightened guard stammer apologies, tripping over his own words. Valgaav didn't understand a word of it, and he understood even less about the situation. He felt pain in both his arms and his shoulder, he had a serious headache, he couldn't move his body, and there was strange man saying sorry to him. He felt fucking miserable, to say the least.

Suddenly, something hit him on the head and everything went black again.

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'Now what's this all about? The bastard didn't hurt you, did he?' a voice spoke.

The poor guard was finally released from his paralysis, and looked up to his fellow guard.

'Just came to check up on you. You've been in here for like twenty minutes now, and we're getting worried...'

Finally, the guard could speak again. 'No, it's nothing, I slipped with my hammer and I hit him.' He nudged his head over to Valgaav.

'Ooh, I understand.' the other guard winked with a malicious grin. 'You're right. Serves the bastard right. I'd have done the same if I'd gotten the chance, you know.' He turned around to leave.

'But I didn't...'the guard tried to retort, but he was interrupted. 'Don't worry mate, I won't tell the superiors if you don't want me to. But I doubt they'll punish you for not being _careful_ with our guest.' With a grin, the second guard walked around the corner and left his comrade alone with Valgaav.

After a few moments of silence, the guard turned to Val again and took his hammer. This time, he was careful not to touch Valgaav's elbow. For some odd reason he really didn't want to cause him pain anymore. When he accidentally hurt him again, Valgaav groaned. But this time, the guard didn't lose his head. He patted the half-demon on his shoulder and spoke some comforting words to him. 'I'm sorry, but this is my job. I'll try not to hurt you, just hold still and everything'll be OK. Don't worry...'

Valgaav fell asleep. No dreams haunted him, no thoughts disturbed his weary mind. Finally, his heart got some rest.

When he was done, the guard left the cell. Before locking the magical door, he looked at Valgaav one last time. Sadly, he shook his head and turned around. He closed the door and turned the key.

_Click. _

TBC


	6. getting to know the environment

disclaimer: me no own Slayers. 'kay!

nekochan: It took quite a while, but here's the update: )Updates 'll be quite slow since school's startin' again... --'

Lina Gabriev: -meep!- longest review yet! - I know they're cruel, but well, they've got a reason... and aboutVal meeting prisoners...he's the only one down there, but he won't stay alone for too long. BTW, Filia knows nuthin' about this happening.

chapter 6: getting to know...the environment

Valgaav didn't wake up for the next two days. During that time, his body took advantage of his immobility to heal up most of his cuts and bruises, so that only a small gash was left on his chest and arm. His elbow, however, was still bent in an awkward angle that made it quite impossible to heal properly.

In the morning of his third day in captivity, he regained consciousness again. At first, he was still too dazed to be aware of the situation he was in. While opening his eyes a little, thoughts of the battle a few days before filled his mind. But this time, he wasn't emotional about it at all. He was only sorting through the events to get a clearer image of what was going on, but when he got to the point where he fainted the first time, everything he remembered was pain and confusion. His head started hurting again, and when he tried to bend forward to his knees, a jolt of pain coursed through his left arm.

Valgaav gasped and sat up straight again, at first only reacting on the pain, then looking at his arm. One of his eyebrows twitched upwards when he saw the metal clasps tying him to the white wall of his cell. _What in the name of..._

It didn't take him long to realize that his elbow was broken, he knew his body better than anyone alive knew their family, considering the trouble it had caused him in the past. And causing now.

After the sharp pain in his dragonic arm had subsided, a duller one took its place in his shoulder. It felt a bit like when you get a growth spurt, only more intense and it would rise to hurt quite a lot and then settle down to an annoying throb.

_Great!_ The half-mazoku thought. _Exactly what I was waiting for! Damn mazoku...if my true body 'd only adapt to them._ He prepared to transform his arm back to stop his part-mazoku body from revolting against his ryuzoku-side, but decided against it when he noticed that doing so would only twist his arm further. The clasps had been arranged in a way that when he'd transform, to say, shorten his arm, he'd break his wrist, elbow AND his shoulder, and probably some places in-between, too. NOT a good idea.

After pondering over the subject some more, Valgaav turned his attention to his surroundings. Well, not that it was that interesting, really. It looked like any other cell, only that the walls were coated in a white paint. And very faintly, there hung a magic aura in the square four-by-four metres room.

Also, Valgaav noticed a tiny rectangular window in the top right corner of his new home. It was too small for even a teen to climb through, and soft footsteps echoed from somewhere not too far away from it. His enhanced hearing sense could determine that the window was about street-level, so his cell was approximately two metres below the ground.

No he started working on a way to get out. He tried the clearest option first: blasting the door open. Feeling inside his soul, he drew out some magic he had already recovered. It wasn't much, but enough to form a Flame Arrow. As if he was aware that something was strange, he carefully flicked it at the iron door, and ducked, neglecting the tearing pain that exploded in his claw again.

Right in time. A spilt second after ducking, the red Arrow zoomed over his head, and was bounced back from the wall as if it was repelled by some magic force. _So I WAS right about the magic!_ Valgaav though as he tried to avoid his own spell that was bouncing from the walls in every direction possible.

When the spell went completely haywire and started spraying and sizzling and only barely missed his legs, Valgaav let out a snarl and grabbed the flame arrow, extinguishing it with a weak water spell.

_This isn't working..._

He had observed that it wouldn't be of any use to try to tackle the little window either, since it had also repelled his magic. Using a stronger spell would be dangerous: he was pretty sure that the strongest he could do at the moment wasn't enough to break the barrier, and if that started darting around too, he could injure himself further. Also, it'd leave him defenceless again.

But physically, he had recovered enough to try to break free from the clasps that bound his legs to the ground. Bracing himself against the pain that erupted from his elbow, he tensed his whole body and tried to get his back straight. When he finally reached the desired (rather awkward) position, (one arm still pinned against the wall, the other supporting his weight on the bench, legs bent beneath it) he used the muscles in his legs and knees in a way they shouldn't be used and forcefully tried to stretch out his legs.

At first, the clasps around his ankles didn't do as much as jerk at the sudden force, but Valgaav could feel them slowly being ripped out of the ground. He tensed even more, almost ripping his muscles in his back and making his knees want to give in, but he didn't stop.

The heavy bolts that kept the shackles to the ground squelched, lost their grip in the concrete ground and eventually broke apart from it. When they suddenly released their hold, Valgaav's knees suddenly buckled, and he fell with his lower back on the bench. His right arm slid away, and one long moment, all his weight was hanging on his injured left.

Valgaav could barely suppress a scream, he only yelped, and struggled to get onto the bench as quickly as he could. When he finally sat down again, relieved that he could stretch his legs again after all this time, he closed his eyes and sighed. With his right hand, he wiped some beads of sweat away that had formed on his forehead and tucked some loose aqua bangs behind his ears.

He sighed. Why did he suddenly feel so tired? It hadn't been _that_ exhausting...Well, maybe it had. He certainly wasn't back to his normal strength again, and then there was this odd feeling in his stomach he hadn't had in ages...

_I'm hungry...How long's it been now? Quite a while..._

As Valgaav was thinking, it dawned on him that he probably wouldn't get food for another while. For once, he could do nothing more than to wait until someone came...When he felt his temper rise at this rather insulting situation, he calmed himself down.

_I deserve this...I owe her this..._

The vision of the blonde dragoness Filia crept into his mind again. A wave of tiredness swept over him again, and he fell asleep, dreaming of his angel...

TBC


	7. a meeting

disclaimer: I own nothing, 'cept for Kvalser, Danver and all the new charas w

**eli:** You're the one who got me started again! thankies!

**nekochan; cheraichan:** Filia will get there soon enough. Val-chan just needs some more moments alone she'll be there at the end of his little 'journey'

**Lina Gabriev:** Thanks for the review! Don't worry, he'll be back on his feet soon enough. No more Val-torture for a while. And umm... I kinda have no idea what the rest is doing right now. Whatever you read in other fics 'll do, I guess. Only Filia's looking for Val, but she's not a very logical seeker.

chapter 7:A meeting

When Valgaav next woke up, it was rather dark in his cell. The mazoku had slept for another day, sitting on the bench, resting his head against his left arm. A weak ray of sunlight was shining inside from the little window.

Breathing calmly, not budging an inch, he blinked a few times to get his eyes adjusted to the light. He took in his surroundings lazily, remembered where he was. A dream of gold still lingered in his mind, a dream that had shielded him from nightmares.

There was no noise outside, the streets were empty. He could hear nothing from beyond the door of his prison, not even the tiniest wisp of air. No one breathed, no one seemed to live in close proximity. A serene silence hung in the cell that was only lit by a radiant orange glow of the setting sun that shone through the little window.

Valgaav thought about nothing for a moment. He lived, and that was all that mattered now. He could feel the magic building up within him again, and this time it wasn't any dark force. Apparently, in these kind of circumstances, when he was indeed _completely _drained, his natural resources would recover faster than the Mazoku-powers.

His left arm still hurt, and his stomach was growling from the lack of food, but Valgaav knew he wouldn't starve to death here. He knew his limits, and even if he needed to eat, he could survive for a couple of months in hibernation if he had to. However, he wasn't exactly planning on staying that long.

He would escape and find Filia. He had it all figured out. First, he'd escape, and then find out where his angel was at the moment. Then, he'd go to her, while avoiding her friends at all cost. The ancient-mazoku wasn't exactly intent on a run-in with Lina Inverse and her allies.

Although he had to admit he kind of admired them. The redhead sure was brave. And strong, too. Valgaav still didn't quite understand HOW she had done it, but she had defeated him after all.

That blond swordsman, that Gourry-guy, didn't look all that impressive, but from what he had heard he wasn't as dumb as he looked...Val still had some difficulties believing that, but anyway.

And then there were the little raven-haired princess and that chimera. Valgaav smiled inwardly at the thought of them two. He wasn't sure, but he felt as if there had been some sparks flying between them on the battlefield. Whatever people thought of him, there had been a time, long ago, when he had been a natural at spying out things like this.

He used to hang around with the other young dragons, and observe the adults to learn from them. And one day, Val had found himself discovering love. One of the older Ancients, in his early two-hundreds (about 18-ish in human standards) had fallen in love before his very eyes.

He remembered the way the guy had looked...eyes shining, a delighted smile, he had felt the magical tension rise. He had heard the young man's and woman's heartbeat speed up, saw them blooming and being happy.

Only a few moments later, it was clear that they had chosen each other as their mate. The girl giggled, the boy blushed and smiled happily, and then they ran off, over the hills of their city. In the light of the setting sun they transformed into their dragon-form and flew off into the sky. Little Val had never seen them again, but after that, he observed other Ancients and, occasionally, humans in love.

From what he had learned through plain observation, he was pretty sure that the chimera and the princess were in love.

When his thoughts carried him to the past, he hastily retreated to safer things to think about. He couldn't deny that the memories of him and his family, in their city of the Ancients, pained him.

He didn't blame the Goldens anymore, however. They had been punished, what was past was past. Now he'd seek out the last Golden, as he was the last Ancient, and see what she'd do. He was certain that she'd kill him. He only allowed himself to hope that she'd do it fast.

It never occurred to him that she might just forgive him, as she'd have done had he not vanished after the fight.

------------------------------------------------------

Hours later, when the sun had set and the silence had been replaced by what seemed to be a hymn from the town's temple, Valgaav was roused from is trance-like state.

He hadn't slept, his arm still hurt and he had tried to get into a different more-or-less comfortable position without moving too much (he had failed miserably, but at least he had manage to stretch his legs a little bit and crack a little tension out of his lower back).

The cell had gotten warm during the day, the half-mazoku even felt a tad sweaty, and the cool of the night was very welcome.

Now, his head jerked up at a sudden sound. Hardly noticing that it was quite chilly now and that he was shivering, Valgaav stared intently into the deep darkness in front of him. His cat like pupils widened in the darkness, adjusting to the lack of light, and his eyes glimmered slightly in the very faint glow of moonlight from the window.

In a matter of seconds, he had checked every square inch of his by now familiar cell. There was nothing to be seen.

...but wait. There was _something_ out there, not very far from the door of his cell. He could feel it. Again he could hear something. A shifting sound -cloth on stone- and then nothing. The soft, faint noise of bare feet carefully stepping.

Valgaav held his breath. It didn't sound heavy enough to be an adult, let alone an armoured guard. The mazoku was still listening intently, and now he could hear shaky breaths, like someone was very out of breath or even hurt. Far in the distance, someone yelled.

Then the hallway went silent again, only the breathing was still heard. The person there had pressed itself against the wall about a metre away from the door, that Valgaav could deduct from what he had heard. And he or she was working hard to get his or her breathing under control and be silent, it seemed.

Suddenly, the person, whoever it was, tripped, and fell against the door. Val, who had been holding his breath for almost a minute, gasped and pressed his back against the wall in a reflex.

A soft moaning came from behind the door. Finally, Valgaav managed to speak up.

"Who's there?"

His voice was raspy, and his throat was dry. At first, the words were only a whisper. But that was enough to make a certain unknown somebody gasp.

After a minute of heavy silence, response came in the form of a soft, child-like voice, quivering from fear and exhaustion.

"...Hello?...Is...someone in there?"

"Who are you?"

Another raspy answer. Valgaav was a bit annoyed at how weak he sounded, but after all he hadn't had anything to drink for days and he hadn't spoken very much lately, too.

Another long silence. Then, a bit more secure:

"Can I come in?"

"Huh...?" That reply was the last he had expected. The answer this time sounded rather cocky.

"What do you mean 'huh'...you do speak my language do you?"

Valgaav was positive now. Whoever was outside there, it was a child. Only children recover so fast. One minute, it was like speaking to a tiny, tired creature in need and then they suddenly revive and get all wise-ass. And it was a girl, judging by the voice.

"Now, _can_ I come in?"

"And _how_ were you gonna do that?" Valgaav nearly snorted, insulted by her response. But he had to admit, 'huh' didn't sound that intelligent.

"Just a moment, mister. I can get in, can you get out?"

The dragon-mazoku smiled. _She isn't dumb, the little one. _Exactly what he'd have done. First inquire about the possible threat someone could be, _then_ approach.

"I'm quite stuck here. I won't attack you if that's what you mean."

This should be interesting...not only was Valgaav curious about who this girl was and what business she had here, in the first place he wanted to see how she'd get in.

"Hmmm...okay. One moment."

A noise of fidgeting somewhere at the door, a click, a thud, a series of weird noises...and the dry creak of the door opening. In the darkness, someone rushed inside, and then closed the door again. There was some more fidgeting, and then the girl turned around to face Valgaav.

Two pairs of eyes widened at the sight of the other person in the room.

Before Valgaav's eyes, a little dusty and bruised girl with cat-ears peeking out of her black or bluish (he couldn't see it very well in the darkness) hair cowered down, frightened at the sight of the half-mazoku. Her breathing came fast and ragged, her big eyes wide with fear.

In her arms, she held a loaf of bread and a weird sort of key. She was trying to hide both of them in the only garment she wore, a filthy, worn-out 'dress' with a hole in the back where a tail was peeking out. And she was shaking like a leaf.

He didn't really see why she was so afraid of him. To her, however, he looked quite frightening. With her cat-like eyes, much like Valgaav's, only darker, she could see his horn and eyes glinting in the moonlight, and she hadn't quite been prepared for his claw.

"My name is Val."

Good, now he could at least talk normally again. Slowly, he stretched his right arm out towards her, as if to strangle her. The thing is, he wanted to gently stroke her, but for some reason, he had forgotten how to make it look like he wasn't going to do something violent.

When the girl backed away, he moved his upper body and reached for her again.

L-sama, he wanted to do something _good_ for a change, he looked at the shivering kitty and felt pity, but she wouldn't let him comfort her. Almost, he growled as he'd have done before Darkstar, but he was held back by a jolt of pain from his broken elbow.

With a groan, he jerked back. Trying to fight the pain, he reached for his left shoulder with his right hand. And _damned _he was breathing fast again! Valgaav squeezed his eyes shut, willing the pain to subside.

When he opened them again, the girl had approached him. She was mere inches from him now, and she was eyeing him with a concerned, pure child-look.

"A-...are you ok?", she whispered. Valgaav looked at her, not quite understanding her change of heart. "Hmm...I'll live." He tried to sound normal, but he couldn't prevent a hint of pain mixing into his tone. So he smiled reassuringly, even if that wouldn't really work .

The girl nodded, not quite convinced. Then she sighed and sat down on Valgaav's bench, as far away as she could. She looked at him.

"I'm Suki."

TBC

Dude, I had writers block for a while...I'm more into mr Tumnus from Narnia right now. And Kurt from X-men. And Vinnie and Seph.

...Yes, I DO collect bishônen w meep


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